Feeling nothing but a flame of hope, he watched a version of Hermione that he didn’t recognise. She delivered her lines like they were the most important thing on earth. She made Quinn believe that if she lost her tinsel factory, they would cancel Christmas around the world. Drunk, he cried about Hermione’s life. But that gave him a new zest; a determination. If he could play a role in getting Hermione back into the public perception, he would do it. That tinsel factory wasnotclosing down!
‘But she has Christmas trees.’ Quinn tried not to recall his time at Hermione’s home with Noah.
‘She does, but she wants one for the upstairs landing.’
The place where Noah showed him her awards.
‘Oh. I see.’
‘So, there’s a Christmas tree farm nearby. I called ahead and they still have space.’
‘But what about the shop?’
‘It’ll only take an hour,’ Ivy said. ‘Daniel’s got it covered.’
‘Ivy…’
‘Come on, Quinn,’ she pleaded, her gloved hands finding his. ‘You need some fun!’ Ivy turned wide, pleading eyes on him, blinking theatrically.
He sighed, resigned to the adorable expression on her face. ‘Fine.’
‘Yay!’ Ivy beamed. ‘I’ll be waiting out front!’
She left him at the shop, where customers were yet to arrive. He wondered if they were boycotting him because of his failed signing. He refreshed his email for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, but still hadn’t got a reply from Noah.
Not that he expected one.
His resolve to not think of Noah was not going well.
He found Ivy in her climate-polluting jeep. He hopped into the passenger side and sunk into the worn leather seat. She set off through Hay, a Christmas compilation album playing Ariana Grande’s ‘Santa Baby’through the speakers.
The Christmas tree farm was in the Brecon Beacons in a farmhouse nestled into the mountain. A hazy fog hung over the crevices of the landscape, like nature had exhaled its chilled breath. As they approached, Quinn was mesmerised by the smoke billowing from the chimney and the snow gathered on the thatched roof.
A man in a plaid coat and with wiry facial hair greeted them, his sleeves rolled up despite the cold to reveal thick hairy arms. He showed them where to park and waited a few feet away as they got out, a smile on his face like a younger Santa.
‘Jerry, hi! This is my friend, Quinn. The one I told you about.’
Something registered for Jerry. His quizzical observation of Quinn soon turned to intrigue, and he extended his hand with raised, bushy eyebrows.
‘Hey, Quinn.’ Jerry shook his hand vigorously. ‘Pleasure to meet you.’
Quinn didn’t know what to say. Already disconcerted with the events the day had thrown at him, he couldn’t help feeling like he wasn’t in on a joke.
‘Jerry is a client of mine,’ Ivy explained. ‘And he’s Noah’s uncle.’
Quinn’s hand was still clasped in Jerry’s, but now he wanted to break away and run. He threw Ivy a look of horror, which she smiled at. When Jerry let go, Quinn shoved his hands in his pockets and shivered from the cold.
‘Pleasure to meet you, too,’ Quinn stuttered.
Jerry gestured for them to follow him, and with his back turned, Quinn looked to Ivy, his eyes wide.
‘What are youdoing?’he mouthed.
‘I have a plan,’ Ivy mimed.
Jerry opened a wooden gate, dusted in snow, and let them walk through. As Quinn spotted Jerry’s black boots, he realised his own worn shoes were not snow friendly at all. They rounded the corner of the house, where icicles hung from the thatched roof, and saw that the back garden – if acres of land could be called a back garden – had transformed into a winter wonderland.
The snow here was neat and untouched, despite the signs of life and business activity. Pine trees stood tall and proud, but Quinn could see how many had been sold thanks to the stumps and the spaces between trees.
